


white chocolate kisses

by twopinchesofcinnamon



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: English major!Oikawa, Fluff, M/M, Oikawa and Bokuto and Kuroo are roomates, a large conversation about the size of Lev’s pee pee, kind of a college au, meet cute, oikawa loves white chocolate and so does suga, smitten oikawa, suga makes cookies, you’re buying all the white chocolate and I’m mad but you’re pretty so it’s okay au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-19 07:03:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22207090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twopinchesofcinnamon/pseuds/twopinchesofcinnamon
Summary: "Here's the thing. You know soulmates right? Picture perfect match who loves you and understands you and shit?"Bokuto nods enthusiastically, angling his head towards Kuroo, who's biting his candy stick like some sort of rabid animal. Oikawa continues, choking back his distaste."Well, this is the opposite of that. Whoever decided to touch my chocolates is as good as the devil—my anti-soulmate, if you will."(Or: some guy is buying all of the white chocolates in Oikawa’s favorite corner store, and he’s mad until he’s not).
Relationships: Bokuto Koutarou/Kuroo Tetsurou, Oikawa Tooru/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 18
Kudos: 375





	white chocolate kisses

**Author's Note:**

> here’s a little haikyuu oneshot of my fave rare pair that I cranked out in thirty minutes with no discernible motive or prelude

Oikawa is man of carefully refined taste and poise, if he does say so himself.

He prides himself on his numerous charming qualities—which he _knows_ are present despite Kuroo and Iwa-chan's snorts of " _don't get too full of yourself, your head may pop and I don't want to clean up the mess_ " and their many variations. He may not be the flirtatious bachelor he was in high school, but he likes to think he’s composed enough to come across as a self-sufficient adult to the untrained eye.

However, this disposition that he has practiced so dutifully flies out the proverbial window today, because some punk-ass _bitch_ has been buying his white chocolate, and only God in the flesh can quell his bubbling rage.

"What am I supposed to do, Testu? What do I have to look forward to now? Without this, I am _nothing_ ," Oikawa flops onto the bed with a defeated wail.

"Dude, I know this may be a lot for you to hear," Kuroo drawls, twirling a fork in his ramen and piling it into his mouth, then pointing the utensil at his wallowing friend, "But don't you think you're being a little overdramatic?"

"Me?" Oikawa places an affronted hand onto his chest, whining, "No, no, this is a travesty of herculean proportions!"

Kuroo wrinkles his nose, "It's just some chocolate."

" _White_ chocolate! The only kind that I eat!"

"Nobody likes white chocolate."

"Exactly! I never anticipated this issue, as only my tongue is thus far sophisticated enough to appreciate the perfection that resides in each bite!"

Kuroo blinks, "Nah, you're just fucking broken. And stop talking all fancy. Your English major is showing."

"You wound me, Tetsu."

"That's my job, _Shakespeare_."

"Fuck off," Oikawa tosses a book at him, "Out of my sight! Thou dost infect my eyes!"

Kuroo wrinkles his nose, "You infect _my_ eyes."

"Hey, now, no infecting people in my apartment," Bokuto ambles into the room—footsteps as loud and overpowering as ever—with an abundance grocery bags hanging off each arm.

"Bo!" Kuroo grins (the way he only does in the presence of this particular person) and hurries to help his boyfriend, pecking him sweetly on the cheek. Bokuto giggles and nuzzles his two-toned hair against the other. They both gazing into each other's eyes with twin disgustingly lovesick expressions, and Oikawa feels vomit crawling up his throat at an alarming rate.

" _Bleugh_ , please spare me the theatrics," he fake-retches, placing his hands over his eyes, "Have you no shame? It's not like you two saps have been dating since, like, high school."

Kuroo chuckles darkly, "You're just jealous because you haven't seen another dick in years."

"Actually," Bokuto says as he grabs a bag of chips from the groceries, promptly ripping into it and plopping onto one of their seats, "Didn't he walk in on Lev—"

" _Oh God_ , don't remind me," Oikawa moans.

Kuroo cackles, coughing on a stray noodle, "I can't believe I forgot! Tooru, dearest, what's it like to have witnessed Lev having his sacred _'alone time_ '?" He wiggles his eyebrows with the last bit, food still caught in his throat and effectively ruining the intended shit-eatingness of the question.

"It's not like anything! I have PTSD, guys—war flashbacks! I'm on meds to forget the abysmally scarring image of Haiba Lev's monster cock!"

"Hey," Kuroo smiles slyly, "Some people would sell their body and soul to catch a glimpse of what he's packin'."

Munching on a chip, Bokuto nods, but muses, "Yaku would probably skin them though."

"Oh, for sure. He'd gouge their eyes out—maybe even cut out their tongues so they couldn't tell anyone about the sheer power of his boyfriend's holy dong. Ooh—speaking of, how come he hasn't come after you yet, Tooru, O Beholder of Dick? It's been a month since the _incident_."

Oikawa pales at the thought of Morisuke's limitless wrath, "I don't think Lev has alluded to anything. He went beet red as soon as he noticed me. It's oddly amusing, in hindsight, having been witness to the day that the Russian doofus experienced embarrassment for the first time. If only I could get past the soul-crushing horror I feel every time I so much as think about it, hmm?"

"Good luck with that," Kuroo barks, "I'd watch your back. Lock your door at night and all that. Whenever the kid mentions it to Yaku, you're toast, man."

 _"If_ he mentions it to Yaku. He might just stew in his humiliation for years."

"Keep telling yourself that."

"Hey!" Bokuto calls, having moved into the other room to deposit the almond milk ( _gross_ , Kuroo, _fuck you_ , Kuroo, _white chocolate is gross my ass_ , Kuroo) in the fridge, "Where's the Oikawa candy stash?! I need a lollipop right now or I will die."

Oikawa jumps to cover Kuroo's mouth but the offending man manages to blurt, "He moved it to the cupboard under the sink!" before he's tackled off the bed.

"Bastard," Oikawa growls, pinning him, "I place my undying trust in you and this is the thanks I get?"

"Sorry," Kuroo smiles sugar-sweet, "Boyfriend trumps the mistress."

"Watch it," Oikawa hisses playfully and cuffs him over the ear, "Or I'll hide it somewhere you can't find it next time."

"Try me."

"Tooru," Bokuto hardly bats an eye at their compromising position, depositing himself adjacent on the floor and holding out three lollipops (cherry for Kuroo, Butterscotch for Oikawa, and the mystery flavor for himself), "Where's all the chocolate I normally have to dig through to reach the good stuff?"

"Don't call that pasty shit chocolate," Kuroo scowls, crunching on his sucker immediately.

Oikawa grimaces at the ape-like manner of candy consumption, as well as the notion that white chocolate is anything other than the reverent delicacy that it is, but answers the question nonetheless:

"Here's the thing. You know soulmates right? Picture perfect match who loves you and understands you and shit?"

Bokuto nods enthusiastically, angling his head towards Kuroo, who's biting his candy stick like some sort of rabid animal. Oikawa continues, choking back his distaste.

"Well, this is the opposite of that. Whoever decided to touch my chocolates is as good as the devil—my anti-soulmate, if you will."

"But what's so great about white chocolate?"

Kuroo instantaneously whines, " _Now_ you've done it, Bo. Here we go again."

"What's so great about white chocolate, you ask? Well, see..."

By the time he's done, Kuroo has nodded off, his head resting in his boyfriend’s lap. Bokuto carries him to their bed, plucking out the lollipop stick with a fond sigh.

"Night, Tooru!" He whispers not-very-quietly, and Oikawa moves to head to his room.

"Oi, loser."

Oikawa looks down at a drowsy Kuroo, who peeks through one drooping eye.

"Y'should go talk to whoever's takin' the chocolates," he mumbles groggily, "It'd be the first person to ever appreciate the taste of cardboard the same way you do."

" _Ha-ha_ ," Oikawa snorts softly, and addresses both his roommates, "Goodnight, lovebirds. Try not to wake me up with any explicit dialogue in the wee hours of the night."

"N’ promises. Nighty-night, Beholder of Dong."

"Eat shit and die, Tetsurou."

•••

Oikawa knows full well that Kuroo was one-hundred percent not serious in his suggestion to confront the burglar of his sacred chocolates.

And yet, he finds himself in the ninth aisle of _Crow’s Nest: All Your Whole Food Needs_ , watching like a fucking creep, because before him is said burglar of the hallowed candy.

And, rather than stride up to the man, rhetorical guns blazing like he imagined in his white chocolate withdrawal fever dreams, he stops, stares, and wishes that he’d brushed his teeth a little more vigorously this morning.

Because, turns out, White Chocolate Thief is _very fucking beautiful_ , and Oikawa is still _very fucking gay_ despite the glaring gap between this exact moment and his last crash-and-burn relationship. ‘Anti-soulmate’ is already starting to seem far from the truth.

“Hello? Are you okay?”

 _Holy shit_ , Oikawa realizes he’s been staring awkwardly enough for the man to notice, but he hardly cares because _wow that voice_ and _wow those eyes_.

“Um, yes,” Oikawa says, eloquent.

“Okay,” White Chocolate Thief raises a lovely sliver eyebrow in concern (and _looks like he’s genuinely nice too_ , that’s just _fantastic_ ), “are you sure? You look a little pale.”

Oikawa slaps his hands harshly against his cheeks, simultaneously hoping to beat some color into them and yank his suave high-school soul back into his body.

“Yes. I was just,” he clears his throat, gesturing stiffly at the candy, “waiting to grab some chocolate.”

“Oh,” the man smiles like cinnamon (and there goes any remaining semblance of normalcy in Oikawa’s brain, probably for the next decade), “Sorry, I’ve been hoarding it recently. Nobody really likes the white kind except me,” he holds the last package on the shelf to him, “You can have this one if you’d like.”

“No, no, it’s okay!” Oikawa frantically flaps his hands, finally remembering how to form more than just monosyllabic nonsense, “You were here first. I’ll just—” he blindly grabs a box, the positively revolting cherry-chocolate kind, and holds it up, “Have this instead.”

The man cocks head, welcoming grin still secure, like it’s the default setting for his pretty face, “I insist. It’s rare I find someone who appreciates this stuff like I do. My friends all tell me I’m a rare species. Besides, the kind you’re settling for is, pardon my language, horse shit.”

Oikawa nearly gawks and wonders how long it is before it’s socially acceptable to declare love for someone, and also tries desperately to commit this charming specimen’s utterance of the the words _horse_ and _shit_ to memory because that was _adorable_.

“You’re absolutely right,” the words tumble out of Oikawa’s mouth, and a jolt of unfounded confidence shoots through him (since it’s _now_ that his high-school self opts to lend his swagger, and hopefully his hair too), “about the cherry kind being shit. But I’d loathe to deprive another of his white chocolate. How about you make it up to me some other way?”

Hazel eyes spark coyly, with something akin to interest, and Oikawa can feel his soul rattling in his bones, “Oh? And what do you propose?”

Oikawa takes a deep breath, attempting to inhale a gaseous form of courage.

“Your number?”

A beat passes and _oh boy_ has he fucked up. How the hell did those words just saunter out of his mouth like he gave them permission? He most certainly did _not_. And, God, Kuroo is never going to let him hear the end of this, Bokuto’s going to give him the pity puppy-dog eyes, and he’ll never be able to come here ever again. He’ll have to give up white chocolate and—

“Sure.”

Oikawa glances up from the point on the floor that he’d taken to staring at. The guy still smiles one-thousand watts, and _wow okay_ , a smattering of blush coats the tips of his cheeks. He clutches his cream jacket shyly, furthering the already lightning speed of Oikawa’s heart palpitations.

“What?” he croaks, like an upstanding, put-together member of society who can speak to other humans. He feels the red rising onto his own face.

“Sure,” the guy repeats with a good-natured chuckle, pupils sparkling, “Don’t seem so surprised. You’re cute.”

Oikawa doesn’t just feel his blush now, he can physically see it trickling into the edges of his vision.

“Besides, I think I make a mean white-chocolate chip cookie, and I haven’t gotten to share them with anyone with good taste before. Here—give me a sec.”

Oikawa nods numbly, not trusting his traitorous words in a last ditch attempt to avoid anymore embarrassment.

The guy runs to the end of the isle and grabs a pen off the counter by the register. He hurries back and picks up Oikawa’s hand, scribbling out a surprisingly messy number and name onto it.

“Sugawara Koushi at your service, but you can call me Suga,” the angel called Suga winks.

“Oikawa Tooru,” he finds it in himself to stutter out a discernible response, “You can call me...Tooru.”

“Well, _Tooru_ , I have to get home soon or else my roommate will combust and assume I’m dead in an alley somewhere—he’s a big teddy bear—but...I’ll see you soon?” He poses the ending as if he’s seeking final affirmation, and Oikawa enthusiastically nods, trying not to focus on the way his name rolls off this stranger’s dainty lips.

“You—uh, yes. _Yes_. You will be hearing from me.”

Suga beams, teeth pearly white and dimples on full display, “Good. I’ll make some cookies for the occasion. Have a lovely day, Oikawa Tooru.”

“You too,” Oikawa mumbles, sporting a dumb grin, as Sugawara Koushi walks away with a box of white chocolates and quite possibly his heart.

•••

“Hey, idiot, I’m in class. Are you okay?! I got your text. What’s the emergency? Did you twist your ankle again on the apartment stairs because, one: _I told you so_ , and two: _that’s what you get for eating my cocoa cereal earlier, what the hell dude_ —?”

“Tetsu,” Oikawa sighs dreamily, cradling his hand to his chest.

“What the fuck? You sound high as a—”

“I think I’m in love.”

Kuroo bangs his head against something on the other side of the line, “Do you know what an emergency _is_ , dipshit? Because a spawned crush does not qualify.”

“That’s the thing, Tetsu. This is no mere crush.”

“ _Mmhmm_. And, pray tell, how do you know that this person you met, say, an hour ago—because you were definitely not in love when I left this morning—is the one?”

“It’s simple,” Oikawa types a number into his phone, setting the contact name ‘ _Suga_ ’ with a number of little white emoji hearts.

“He likes white chocolate too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Also like, I hate white chocolate with a passion so I don’t know where this concept even came from


End file.
